baggage's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- happy ending Well, there are happy endings. I'll get to witness one myself early December. Last night I came home to find a letter, actually a wedding invitation, from my first boss after graduating from college. I know a lot of people who hated their first few jobs after college-maybe the position didn�t pay enough, maybe they've realized a college degree too late that their chosen vocation is boring as hell...or maybe they regret never taking that backpacking trip through Europe between high school and college. For whatever reason, that first job after college, unlike a Snickers, rarely satisfies. I was lucky. I loved my first job out of college. Actually, I loved my boss. R was funny, attractive, and a hella cool to be around. She also sang beautifully. And to top all of that of, she was also great manager-a killer combination for me. One of my best memories of her was spending the afternoon cruising through the hills in Riverside County taking photographs for a promotional book we were going to produce. We got in her car, drove up roads, set up tripods and spent hours joking about our jobs and taking beautiful photographs of the valley (this was before suburbia set in and replaced the view with miles and miles of the reddish tiled roofs. Leave it to Southern Californians to ruin natural beauty with stucco-walled dreams). We needed photographs of the local fire station and was disappointed to find the place locked up when we stopped by. Actually, SHE was disappointed (I believe most women have a major thang for firefighters. Tell me, is it true?). But, as we were pulling away, the engine rolled in completely stocked with studly firefighters fresh from a false alarm. She whipped out her mirror and lipstick, made herself look even prettier than she was, turned to me and said, "stay here, agent 13. I'm going in alone for this one." I laughed as she strutted up to the smiling firefighters (Over my two years working with her, I would come to recognize that strut. She reserved it for special occasions�errr, I mean men). Aside from our love of music (I used to bring my guitar in and she would sing Crazy in the office-ahhh, those are some great memories), we also had a one thing in common in matters of love: We were both in the middle of very passionate, all-encompassing love affairs. Yeah, well...it's not something I would suggest anyone do. It was a weird time for me. Despite a lot of soul searching, and praying, I found the lure of intoxication via a passionate, forbidden love affair way, way too strong. She was dating a high-level manager of a nationally known firm. She interviewed him for a story, and the sparks that flew between the both of them and the mini-recorder she used on the job was more than enough to start the fire. My relationship arose from my pre-college, during college work days (this was years ago, folks. I was single at the time). I have a thing for beautiful ladies who love animals and laugh ridiculously loud, and this woman turned me on like no other. She was everything good about my previous GF's rolled into one gorgeous body: sophisticated, funny, wise�the list could go on for days. I�m not sure what she saw in me, but I wasn�t questioning my luck. So, since these relationships were not the type that we could talk to just anyone about, my boss and I became close confidants. We spent many work hours talking about the right and wrong of our situation. Having an affair is physically, and more importantly, morally tiring. It's odd loving a person and knowing that they're having sex with their husband or wife. It's odd knowing that in the eyes of just about everyone in the world that you are a home-wrecker. It's odd trying to raise yourself up morally when the one thing more consuming than your passion for this other person was the neverending wave of guilt crashing over you every second of the day. We didn�t keep in touch as much as I would have liked after she was laid-off, but we remained friends. I think she wanted to clean herself off of all the shit that had caked on over the years, and needed some time away. On one of the few occasions we did have lunch together (this was about three years ago), she told me that she broke off her affair after many years of denial. She wasn�t seeing anyone in particular, and was afraid she would grow old alone. The sex may end when an affair is over, but the guilt stays and grows. You feel ugly, used-unable to give yourself to a new relationship: an invisible scarlet letter tattooed on your conscience. But, last night, my eyes became somewhat teary as I read and reread her wedding invitation. She had scribbled a little note to me and tucked it in along with the tissue (what is that tissue for, anyway?) that comes standard in wedding invites: "He knows all about me. I know all about him. And we still love each other. I can�t wait for you to meet him.� Love, R. P.S. He's a fireman." 15:57:24 - 2000-10-19 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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